I've mentioned before how important words are, how they affect people, and nowhere in my life do the words become more emotionally charged than adoption. Especially labels. What do I call the woman who gave birth to my son? Sometimes, for fun, I call her my "baby mama"...because I'm a woman, and this is my only chance to use this term. Some people choose to say "biological mother" or "birth mom", and these terms are accurate. The worst thing someone could call her is his "real mom" or "natural mother". Because what is natural about abandoning your child? What makes someone a "real mom"? Is it giving someone your DNA, or is it wiping their tears and changing their diapers? The phrase I've come across that I like best is "first mom". I love how it rolls off the tongue, and I love how it represents her best. She loved him first. She held him first. She called him Michael first. And just like a first love, he'll never forget her. She is there in his blue eyes and pink lips, in every beat his heart makes. I also like how "first" can be applied to all the other family members we have gotten to know, the aunts and grandmas who long to see him and keep him in their lives.
Its scary, this forging of new relationships. When the judge made him ours, and the social worker told us he has three sisters, we knew we had to do everything in our power to meet them. He needed to know them, to bond with them. But we didn't know what would happen, what we would find when we sought them out. Who were these other caregivers? Would we get along? Would they want to stay in touch? Would they murder us and dump our bodies in the woods and take Michael away? Fortunately, we found the one thing that makes this whole crazy situation work: LOVE. For Michael, for Gianna, for Melodie and Kelcie. These other moms and dads who stepped in to care for them, their love is so powerful that it makes the visits and the picture exchanges possible. It is a love that sacrifices self to do what's best for the kids. And we all agree that what's best is for them to play in a yard on a cool spring day. To play catch with each other, to chase cats and fight over cars. To play peek-a-boo and dance to One Direction songs together. I did the math today. When his oldest sister is a senior in high school, he'll be starting first grade. What is going to bridge that age gap? What is going to be the common denominator when he's not a cute little baby anymore? The answer is love. This space that we are giving them now, to know each other, to play together, is going to matter in the future when they are the ones deciding whether or not to call each other, when they are deciding who to invite to their graduations, weddings, baby showers. When they no longer have to use qualifiers, but can just call each other "Friend".
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Friday, April 26, 2013
Making Memories
James and I lay snuggled inside a blanket on the grass. The sunlight filtered through the fabric to illuminate our faces. I looked at him and saw, not the tall slender six year old he has become, with long fingers and big knuckles, adult teeth crowding the tiny baby teeth in his mouth, but the chubby cheeks and big, watchful eyes of my baby. They're still in there, although that face is growing and changing and becoming more mature. When I look at him, I remember. I remember long nights and quiet cries that seemed to fill our entire half of the duplex. I remember awkward steps and cuts and bruises and even louder cries that turned into determination to master the new skills. I remember the clinging hugs during evaluations and the reports and forms that attempted to quantify this child who refuses to fit on a piece of paper.
I wonder what he will remember of these years. Will he remember when I was there or the times I wasn't? Will he remember love and gentle touches, or will he remember anger and red marks on his bottom? Will he remember looking at me through tear-filled eyes, and will the image be calm and steady or irritated and unpredictable? Will he remember the trips we take, whether down the street to the playground or across the country on a plane? Will he remember the stories we read? Will he remember the early mornings and the middle of the night cuddles? Will he remember when we brought home babies and called them brothers? Will he remember the summer nights when we lay on the lawn and watched the stars in the sky?
Will his memories be full of love that sustains him through the difficulties of life, and will they remind him that there is always a place where he is welcome and safe? Will he share them with others, will he seek to experience them again from the role of a parent? Will Mother's Day and Father's Day be a time when he thinks fondly of his childhood and calls up special memories, or will it be a time to avoid us?
I think we all hope that the good outweighs the bad, and the children grow up to be healthy and stable and secure. That they tell others about the wonderful people who raised them, and sing our praises, and even the moments of discipline and consequences are looked at with appreciation. And I hope that I can remember snuggling inside a blanket as the sunlight filters through the fabric.
I wonder what he will remember of these years. Will he remember when I was there or the times I wasn't? Will he remember love and gentle touches, or will he remember anger and red marks on his bottom? Will he remember looking at me through tear-filled eyes, and will the image be calm and steady or irritated and unpredictable? Will he remember the trips we take, whether down the street to the playground or across the country on a plane? Will he remember the stories we read? Will he remember the early mornings and the middle of the night cuddles? Will he remember when we brought home babies and called them brothers? Will he remember the summer nights when we lay on the lawn and watched the stars in the sky?
Will his memories be full of love that sustains him through the difficulties of life, and will they remind him that there is always a place where he is welcome and safe? Will he share them with others, will he seek to experience them again from the role of a parent? Will Mother's Day and Father's Day be a time when he thinks fondly of his childhood and calls up special memories, or will it be a time to avoid us?
I think we all hope that the good outweighs the bad, and the children grow up to be healthy and stable and secure. That they tell others about the wonderful people who raised them, and sing our praises, and even the moments of discipline and consequences are looked at with appreciation. And I hope that I can remember snuggling inside a blanket as the sunlight filters through the fabric.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Senior Citizens
Before I had my first baby, long before I became the Insomni-Mommy, people used to say these awful trite parent catchphrases. They would tell me "Motherhood is the hardest job you will ever have, but its also the best job ever." (insert eye roll) I also heard "My children are the ones teaching ME!" and I thought, you saccharine-filled idiot, how stupid do you have to be to learn something from a child? They come into the world knowing NOTHING, and its only because of adults that they ever learn to function. Your kid is probably going to wind up on welfare with morons like you for parents. This is just one of the misconceptions I had before my own baptism of fire called giving birth. (Another was, My life isn't going to change that much...but that's another blog for another day)
I think its safe to say I have realized my error and in fact learn something almost daily in this season of raising boys and wiping butts and seeking refuge at the computer, where all of my friends live. Sometimes its a simple as learning new facts from a book about phases of the moon, something that I'm sure Mr. Morrison covered in 9th grade Earth Science, but I missed because I hated Earth Science and Mr. Morrison by proxy. Did you know that the cobwebs you find while dusting your house (bi-annually) are the abandoned homes of spiders? They build a new web every 24 hours, eating all the sticky parts of the old one to provide thread for the new one. I didn't, until I read it a few years ago in a 30 page book about spiders. (Because that's what mothers of boys read. Pinkalicious does not find its way into our bag at the library)
But then there are the big moments, when being a mother challenges very deep prejudices and misconceptions. When my heart literally grows bigger because of something I witness in my children. Like today, when we visited Great-Grandpa Fraser at his nursing home. A little background on me: I don't like old people. If your response to that is like Sarah's ("My grandparents are the best people I know!"), then to you I say congratulations. I don't know what that's like. To me, old people smell and are kind of worthless, and I can't help but think that if they would all just die, our country would make a huge leap forward in civil rights, race relations, female empowerment, etc. Recently, I was really moved to try to look at the whole of them differently, however, and I thought a good place to start would be within my own family, within my own county. So I took the two little boys to visit their Great-Grandpa before naptime. We brought two books and a toy car, and although I was kind of dreading it (because nursing homes equal death to me), Winston and Michael were thrilled to ride an elevator and run down a really long hallway. I kept waiting for someone to yell at us (another prejudice I have...old people are mean), but everyone we passed smiled and was just thrilled to see the kids. We walked into Grandpa's room, where he was asleep in his armchair, and Winston woke him up by throwing the books on his lap. He woke up terrified, not a great start, but quickly recovered and was genuinely happy to see us. We talked for a bit, and then I asked Winston to read the books with him, which is when my son really turned on the charm. He smiled, he laughed, he hung over the side of Grandpa's chair. He read most of the words ("In a People House"), and Grandpa helped him with the ones he didn't know. I realized, looking at the two of them, that there is a symbiosis between the very old and the very young. They both need large print to read, and the "outdoor" voice Winston uses all day long probably sounds just audible to Grandpa. I feel like we filled the room with happiness and vitality for 30 minutes or so, until Michael decided he was done and threw a fit. But the boys both gave Grandpa a high five and a nice "Goodbye!" and it was back to the car and lights out for us.
Such a simple errand, but such a big eye-opener. I realized that I can be a little uncomfortable, just sit back and watch my darling kids run the show. They entertained, they enchanted, they did all the work. And what's more, they had a blast. It was a great way to spend an otherwise crummy rainy morning. I never wanted to be that person taking her kids to cheer up the old folks...I didn't even want to be that kid when I was younger! And so I am extremely impressed by my sons and their impervious charm. I'm glad we did something different, and I'm actually looking forward to going back.
I think its safe to say I have realized my error and in fact learn something almost daily in this season of raising boys and wiping butts and seeking refuge at the computer, where all of my friends live. Sometimes its a simple as learning new facts from a book about phases of the moon, something that I'm sure Mr. Morrison covered in 9th grade Earth Science, but I missed because I hated Earth Science and Mr. Morrison by proxy. Did you know that the cobwebs you find while dusting your house (bi-annually) are the abandoned homes of spiders? They build a new web every 24 hours, eating all the sticky parts of the old one to provide thread for the new one. I didn't, until I read it a few years ago in a 30 page book about spiders. (Because that's what mothers of boys read. Pinkalicious does not find its way into our bag at the library)
But then there are the big moments, when being a mother challenges very deep prejudices and misconceptions. When my heart literally grows bigger because of something I witness in my children. Like today, when we visited Great-Grandpa Fraser at his nursing home. A little background on me: I don't like old people. If your response to that is like Sarah's ("My grandparents are the best people I know!"), then to you I say congratulations. I don't know what that's like. To me, old people smell and are kind of worthless, and I can't help but think that if they would all just die, our country would make a huge leap forward in civil rights, race relations, female empowerment, etc. Recently, I was really moved to try to look at the whole of them differently, however, and I thought a good place to start would be within my own family, within my own county. So I took the two little boys to visit their Great-Grandpa before naptime. We brought two books and a toy car, and although I was kind of dreading it (because nursing homes equal death to me), Winston and Michael were thrilled to ride an elevator and run down a really long hallway. I kept waiting for someone to yell at us (another prejudice I have...old people are mean), but everyone we passed smiled and was just thrilled to see the kids. We walked into Grandpa's room, where he was asleep in his armchair, and Winston woke him up by throwing the books on his lap. He woke up terrified, not a great start, but quickly recovered and was genuinely happy to see us. We talked for a bit, and then I asked Winston to read the books with him, which is when my son really turned on the charm. He smiled, he laughed, he hung over the side of Grandpa's chair. He read most of the words ("In a People House"), and Grandpa helped him with the ones he didn't know. I realized, looking at the two of them, that there is a symbiosis between the very old and the very young. They both need large print to read, and the "outdoor" voice Winston uses all day long probably sounds just audible to Grandpa. I feel like we filled the room with happiness and vitality for 30 minutes or so, until Michael decided he was done and threw a fit. But the boys both gave Grandpa a high five and a nice "Goodbye!" and it was back to the car and lights out for us.
Such a simple errand, but such a big eye-opener. I realized that I can be a little uncomfortable, just sit back and watch my darling kids run the show. They entertained, they enchanted, they did all the work. And what's more, they had a blast. It was a great way to spend an otherwise crummy rainy morning. I never wanted to be that person taking her kids to cheer up the old folks...I didn't even want to be that kid when I was younger! And so I am extremely impressed by my sons and their impervious charm. I'm glad we did something different, and I'm actually looking forward to going back.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
What Not to Wear
During that brief period when my family had cable, that magical time when I was home way more, but not too busy with little people and all the clothes they soil throughout the day, I watched a show called "What Not to Wear"...the one where Clinton and Stacy ambush women who are not dressing appropriately, whether they are in a size too small or dressing like a 13 year old prositute or wearing sweatpants to the mall. They bring all of the woman's clothes to a room, and they make her throw them away. This was the worst part to watch, as they pulled out her 20 year old tshirts and flannel pj pants and mocked her for having them in her closet. The woman would try to make a case for why she shouldn't have to get rid of it, and I hoped each time the items would get a reprieve. What is she supposed to wear around the house on her lazy day? Is she supposed to wear a pencil skirt and crocodile pumps when she has the flu? I guess these ladies had committed crimes against high fashion, and this was the punishment that fit. The woman then had to go out and buy new clothes, following the suggestions and guidelines of the hosts. Cameras followed her from store to store, as she struggled to break out of her usual practice and find clothes that were acceptable. I lived in fear that my sister would submit my name to this show, that hidden cameras would record me taking my son to preschool in sweatpants, sitting at the park in my tshirt from the 6th grade (soft as my baby's skin!), and they would descend upon me like jackals and force me to start dressing like the woman I apparently have become.
Thankfully, that never happened, but I find myself thinking of those poor ladies whenever I am in a store trying to buy new clothes. My eyes are always drawn to the juniors section, to the short shorts and colorful tshirts, and it makes me sad that the added curves of motherhood prevent me from fitting in the sizes offered. I know I should be looking at the wrap dresses and scarves and tunics in the women's department. I should be dressing in blazers and silky tops when I pick my son up from school. I finally stopped putting my hair in pigtails (even though it looks so cute!) when my sister told me this was unacceptable for a 28 year old woman. She's probably right.
I went to Kohl's yesterday, armed with my birthday gift cards, on a mission to buy new running shoes. Because the one area I am always trying to keep comfy and stylish is my feet. I was in luck...they were having a sale on athletic shoes. I saw so many styles and colors, at really good prices, but sadly, most were only available in a ladies size 6. I found one pair that I liked and felt cushiony on my feet, and then I looked around the store. I still had $50 to spend, and I thought I should get something else. I was drawn to the kids section, and I was reminded of the lady on What Not to Wear who couldn't find anything for herself, but instead perused the children's clothes. Clinton and Stacy admonished her for not making herself a priority, but I totally get it. I don't feel like I need new clothes, but my growing boys are in constant need of bigger sizes, new pants, a nice shirt. And so I spent my remaining gift card on James, purchasing shorts and pjs and an Angry Birds Star Wars tshirt that I know he will love. I felt great at the register, when the total came to $108, and I had saved $90. I love that about sales at Kohl's, how you can find everything you need and the prices are ridiculously low.
We are ready for summer now, James in his new size 7 shorts and Winston in his brother's old size 4s. Michael is just the right size for all the cute outfits Winston wore 3 years ago, and I have a drawer full of warm weather clothes that have been waiting to be worn. It may be classified as "What Not to Wear", but we'll be happy and comfy!
Thankfully, that never happened, but I find myself thinking of those poor ladies whenever I am in a store trying to buy new clothes. My eyes are always drawn to the juniors section, to the short shorts and colorful tshirts, and it makes me sad that the added curves of motherhood prevent me from fitting in the sizes offered. I know I should be looking at the wrap dresses and scarves and tunics in the women's department. I should be dressing in blazers and silky tops when I pick my son up from school. I finally stopped putting my hair in pigtails (even though it looks so cute!) when my sister told me this was unacceptable for a 28 year old woman. She's probably right.
I went to Kohl's yesterday, armed with my birthday gift cards, on a mission to buy new running shoes. Because the one area I am always trying to keep comfy and stylish is my feet. I was in luck...they were having a sale on athletic shoes. I saw so many styles and colors, at really good prices, but sadly, most were only available in a ladies size 6. I found one pair that I liked and felt cushiony on my feet, and then I looked around the store. I still had $50 to spend, and I thought I should get something else. I was drawn to the kids section, and I was reminded of the lady on What Not to Wear who couldn't find anything for herself, but instead perused the children's clothes. Clinton and Stacy admonished her for not making herself a priority, but I totally get it. I don't feel like I need new clothes, but my growing boys are in constant need of bigger sizes, new pants, a nice shirt. And so I spent my remaining gift card on James, purchasing shorts and pjs and an Angry Birds Star Wars tshirt that I know he will love. I felt great at the register, when the total came to $108, and I had saved $90. I love that about sales at Kohl's, how you can find everything you need and the prices are ridiculously low.
We are ready for summer now, James in his new size 7 shorts and Winston in his brother's old size 4s. Michael is just the right size for all the cute outfits Winston wore 3 years ago, and I have a drawer full of warm weather clothes that have been waiting to be worn. It may be classified as "What Not to Wear", but we'll be happy and comfy!
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Girl Rising
"1 in 4 girls born on Planet Earth today will be born into poverty. Without an education, she will stay there." -Girl Rising
Tonight I had the privilege of attending a movie with my friend. I dressed up, because whenever I know I'm going to see a bunch of women, I want to look my best. I used to reserve this for my boyfriend, but then he became my husband and saw me in sweatpants and sick with the flu, and it didn't seem so important to pretend like I always look that amazing. (for the record, I do still dress up for my husband, especially if we are going out or doing something special, but I do it mostly out of guilt for the fact that I do it more genuinely for a bunch of ladies) We went to see a documentary called "Girl-Rising", a look at 8 young women in developing countries and their struggle to receive an education. I was so moved by the obstacles each faced just to learn. It made me appreciate so much the FREE quality education each of us is entitled to in this country. That going to school and learning is so ingrained in our culture that we sometimes think of it as a burden, instead of fighting tooth and nail to get there. I know that for me personally, school gave me the life I have now. Teachers and books enabled me to know where each of the countries represented in the film is located. I didn't even need the subtitles for the girl in Haiti, because in school I learned French, and so I understood Wadley's repeated requests to go to "ecole". Parents who helped me with my homework, encouraged my interests, and met my needs so I could focus each day enabled me to be the best student I could. Some might look at my life and say that I have squandered all this knowledge as a stay-at-home mom. But I know the reality: that I was able to CHOOSE for myself this life, that learning is far from over for me, as I continue to read and watch, to take lessons from life, and ultimately that being an educated mother ensures that my children will learn from me. I know that knowledge is indeed power, and I wield that power everyday. I am free. I am strong.
What a powerful image to see women band together in Nepal, converging on the home where a young girl is enslaved, and saying, "We will not leave until you set her free." Because a woman did that for each of them. I want to be one of those woman, canvassing the neighborhood to set young girls free. But God blessed me with three sons instead, and so I think of the young man in Ethiopia who stood against his widowed mother to make sure his 13 year old sister would not be given away in marriage, and could instead continue going to school, and live in safety. I want to teach my sons to be that kind of man; to see injustice and inequality and stand in its way. To be the kind of men who teach others, who lead others, who make this world better and safer for EVERYONE, because they know that a woman is more than a commodity. I know these boys will be strong when they are men, they will be tall and physically dominant. But I hope to teach them how that strength can be used to protect and defend people who are smaller, weaker, powerless, not to manipulate, force, demand subservience. Because it was men who freed the slaves. It was men who gave women the right to vote. It is men who recognize that power and knowledge can be shared without diminishing who they are that change the world.
Despite the statistics, I feel hope about our world. I believe that it is getting better, that love is overpowering hate and light is shining in the dark. I believe that girls are rising, and I can't wait to see what heights they reach.
Tonight I had the privilege of attending a movie with my friend. I dressed up, because whenever I know I'm going to see a bunch of women, I want to look my best. I used to reserve this for my boyfriend, but then he became my husband and saw me in sweatpants and sick with the flu, and it didn't seem so important to pretend like I always look that amazing. (for the record, I do still dress up for my husband, especially if we are going out or doing something special, but I do it mostly out of guilt for the fact that I do it more genuinely for a bunch of ladies) We went to see a documentary called "Girl-Rising", a look at 8 young women in developing countries and their struggle to receive an education. I was so moved by the obstacles each faced just to learn. It made me appreciate so much the FREE quality education each of us is entitled to in this country. That going to school and learning is so ingrained in our culture that we sometimes think of it as a burden, instead of fighting tooth and nail to get there. I know that for me personally, school gave me the life I have now. Teachers and books enabled me to know where each of the countries represented in the film is located. I didn't even need the subtitles for the girl in Haiti, because in school I learned French, and so I understood Wadley's repeated requests to go to "ecole". Parents who helped me with my homework, encouraged my interests, and met my needs so I could focus each day enabled me to be the best student I could. Some might look at my life and say that I have squandered all this knowledge as a stay-at-home mom. But I know the reality: that I was able to CHOOSE for myself this life, that learning is far from over for me, as I continue to read and watch, to take lessons from life, and ultimately that being an educated mother ensures that my children will learn from me. I know that knowledge is indeed power, and I wield that power everyday. I am free. I am strong.
What a powerful image to see women band together in Nepal, converging on the home where a young girl is enslaved, and saying, "We will not leave until you set her free." Because a woman did that for each of them. I want to be one of those woman, canvassing the neighborhood to set young girls free. But God blessed me with three sons instead, and so I think of the young man in Ethiopia who stood against his widowed mother to make sure his 13 year old sister would not be given away in marriage, and could instead continue going to school, and live in safety. I want to teach my sons to be that kind of man; to see injustice and inequality and stand in its way. To be the kind of men who teach others, who lead others, who make this world better and safer for EVERYONE, because they know that a woman is more than a commodity. I know these boys will be strong when they are men, they will be tall and physically dominant. But I hope to teach them how that strength can be used to protect and defend people who are smaller, weaker, powerless, not to manipulate, force, demand subservience. Because it was men who freed the slaves. It was men who gave women the right to vote. It is men who recognize that power and knowledge can be shared without diminishing who they are that change the world.
Despite the statistics, I feel hope about our world. I believe that it is getting better, that love is overpowering hate and light is shining in the dark. I believe that girls are rising, and I can't wait to see what heights they reach.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Love Dare part 2
Yes, we are still at it. We are daring to love every day and learning more than we expected. Wow. I can say, I was looking forward to 40 days of lovey-dovey moments with Chris. I thought we would just sail through these dares and grow closer and smile at how much we love each other. But what I'm finding is these tasks are doing a great job at shining a light on how poorly I sacrifice for my husband. I really didn't think of myself as selfish or entitled, but those words came to me this past weekend. When I stay in bed and expect him to get up with the kids. When I glare at the full trash can he left for me while he is at work. When I pass that toy/sticker/apple core/dirty sock on the floor over and over and I REFUSE to pick it up, because I do enough around here, that should be his job. And so I chose to email my Village sisters and tell them this discovery I had. It was hard to be that honest. But then today's dare was about being intimate, about trusting my spouse with everything. So I told him the same thing. And it was so much harder than even that email, to look at his face agreeing with me as I said those words out loud. Ugh. And I don't want to change. I don't want to be better somedays. I DO do alot around here. But I know that I need to get my butt out of bed. I need to partner with this man more fully, take the burden more equally.
Because the other thing these Dares are showing me is what an incredible man I married. I talked with Liga (in my head I always call her Lovely Liga, and I think one of these days its going to slip out when I'm actually talking to her), who met her husband when they were stupid, immature teenagers, just like me and Chris. And we agreed that looking back at the beginning of our relationships at the boys we fell in love with, kind of makes us cringe at how low our standards were. And how those boys became men who just make our jaws drop sometimes, that we got so lucky to have these men marry us and give us children to raise together. Nothing Chris did while we were dating(or even that first year of marriage) comes anywhere close to the ways that he impresses me and loves me and challenges me today. Seriously, 17 year old Rachel, you won the husband lottery when you lost your mind for that boy at work who smiled at you and told funny jokes and had kind of a cool car. You didn't know then (how could you, you were such a moron, and worse, you thought you were pretty smart) that he would turn out to be self-less and kind, laid-back and thoughtful, gentle and strong, tender and bold. You just wanted to kiss those full lips and hold hands at the movies and have a date for Prom who wouldn't bring a 2 liter of Pepsi mixed with rum in a backpack (a backpack and a tux, people. Pepsi and rum). At least the funny thing is still there. He still makes me laugh. And taking away distractions and making time to talk more these past 18 days has made me remember just how much I loved to laugh with this man when he was a boy, and I appreciate that I still get to laugh with him now. Only the jokes are much more personal and special and gut-busting, because what we have is a one flesh, one love partnership.
Because the other thing these Dares are showing me is what an incredible man I married. I talked with Liga (in my head I always call her Lovely Liga, and I think one of these days its going to slip out when I'm actually talking to her), who met her husband when they were stupid, immature teenagers, just like me and Chris. And we agreed that looking back at the beginning of our relationships at the boys we fell in love with, kind of makes us cringe at how low our standards were. And how those boys became men who just make our jaws drop sometimes, that we got so lucky to have these men marry us and give us children to raise together. Nothing Chris did while we were dating(or even that first year of marriage) comes anywhere close to the ways that he impresses me and loves me and challenges me today. Seriously, 17 year old Rachel, you won the husband lottery when you lost your mind for that boy at work who smiled at you and told funny jokes and had kind of a cool car. You didn't know then (how could you, you were such a moron, and worse, you thought you were pretty smart) that he would turn out to be self-less and kind, laid-back and thoughtful, gentle and strong, tender and bold. You just wanted to kiss those full lips and hold hands at the movies and have a date for Prom who wouldn't bring a 2 liter of Pepsi mixed with rum in a backpack (a backpack and a tux, people. Pepsi and rum). At least the funny thing is still there. He still makes me laugh. And taking away distractions and making time to talk more these past 18 days has made me remember just how much I loved to laugh with this man when he was a boy, and I appreciate that I still get to laugh with him now. Only the jokes are much more personal and special and gut-busting, because what we have is a one flesh, one love partnership.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
This I Believe
" And we are not perfect. We say the wrong thing. We grow and we change and the words we spoke in the past are words of which we now repent, but that is the nature of sanctification and there is no one exempt from that process." -Fabs Harford
I believe that words are important. I believe that what we say and what we write can affect people, and it is our choice to encourage and build people up, or tear others down with our negativity. So often, as I was growing up, my parents would admonish me to THINK before I spoke, usually as a follow-up to something insensitive or inappropriate that had just come out of my mouth. I would sigh in exasperation, because the challenge to evaluate all spoken words before enunciating them, and discarding the unnecessary ones, seemed too much for me. I didn't want to stop long enough to consider my words, I wanted to get them out, to share them with others and join in. People gave me labels: I was cynical, sarcastic, jaded.
I often wrote as I grew up, I filled notebooks with thoughts and observations. I still wonder if anyone is ever going to read those words or if they will get thrown away at some point, without being seen by the world. I want to have influence, I want to share my mind and my feelings, but I lack the confidence that I have anything worth saying. Then I started a blog. I began not knowing what to write, and the first year I think I wrote 3 entries. My husband was the only one to read them. The next year I posted just once.
It was surreal to find myself, this lover of words, the mother of a non-verbal child. I yearned for the day I would hear him speak, when we could converse and share our words and learn more about each other. It didn't come. The doctors and the speech therapists and the educators all told me the same word: autism. They gave other words and phrases, like developmental delay and no imaginative play and isolated and early intervention. We started therapy and preschool and while he struggled to find his voice, I did too. I couldn't figure out how to tell people what I was coming to terms with, the reality of having a son with a "disability". I found myself dropping out of the mom-petition, avoiding playdates and birthday parties and listening with jealousy as the other moms compared their children's milestones. I wondered if my child would ever use a toilet, make a friend, learn to read or write his name, much less play on a basketball team, speak Spanish, or write a play for his third grade class to perform.
I was scared for my son to receive an official diagnosis. I was afraid of that word, afraid of what being associated with that word might mean for him. Would he become a target of bullies? What other words would they call him, when they saw him riding the "short bus" that is no longer short? How many times had I made jokes at others' expense, how many times had I declared something "retarded" in my adolescent speaking-before-thinking phase?
But I came to realize its not a word spoken by a doctor in a white coat that I am afraid of. Its what we are teaching all of our kids about words and about how we treat people who are different from us. And that's when I found my voice. I began sharing my opinions and stories and family with the internet, simultaneously afraid that no one would read and afraid that everyone would. I found, through blogging, that I could form my words, gather my thoughts, and take the time to present an idea without being offensive, hurtful, thoughtless. Although it can often be a place where people comment without any regard for the fact that a person is on the other end, reading their words, for me, the internet is the place where I finally learned to think before speaking. I can look at a person's profile picture, I read about their struggles and hopes, and I take my time forming a response. My hope is that what comes out is different, so that people perceive me differently. So that they use words like "loving" and "encouraging" to describe me.
Another benefit of speaking boldly for my son and others like him, is that he is now finding his voice. He is speaking and learning to read; he is expressing his needs and communicating to others. One of his favorite stories is The Lorax by Dr. Seuss. I love to hear him loudly proclaim, "I am the Lorax...I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues." Where I once saw myself as speaking for my silent son, now I wonder what voiceless, invisible group he will speak for.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Love Dare (part 1?)
I've mentioned before how much I love Family Village. How the last year of meeting bi-weekly has given Chris and I so many opportunities to talk and learn and introduce new ideas to our marriage and our family. Mandy has set an amazing example for me about how to mother my children: she is so engaged and energetic with her kids, and somehow manages to cook dinners and can vegetables and write beautiful blog posts as well. One of the first lessons (I guess that's what I should call them?) Village had was centered around teaching our kids to pray. They gave us about 12 different ideas to engage the kids in a fun way to learn how to verbally express our thanks and petitions, our adoration and confession. We were the only family whose kids were unable to answer the very simple question "How old are you?" despite the fact that there were children present who were younger who still responded, so I didn't know how much they would understand about prayer. But we used the ideas provided, tweaked them a little to fit our family, and off we went (I also worked for a few weeks to teach the boys how old they were, and I'm happy to say they now know the answer to that question!). And wonder of wonders, my boys can pray. This past Easter Sunday they both asked to take a turn praying before our meal, and I loved hearing their little voices and the things they are thankful for (Mommy and Daddy, and playing outside, in case you were wondering!).
So when our leaders announced we were going to do The Love Dare (a 40 day challenge to be kinder to your spouse from the movie Fireproof), I was ready to go. YES! My marriage is about to get a little more awesome, and although I have wanted to do this since I saw the movie years ago, I've never actually gotten around to it. Now I have a whole village of people to keep me motivated and hold me accountable to do it! We got the book, flipped open to the first Dare, and I frowned. Day 1...was it something simple and pleasant to get my feet wet? NO. Day 1: Love is patient. Be patient with your spouse all day. Only say kind things. If you want to say something negative, say nothing. As much as my husband tells me I'm a good wife, as much as I think of myself this way, the truth is that I can have a sharp tongue. I don't nag or belittle him, but I am sarcastic (its my superpower, sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse) and sometimes I say things that are very hurtful without even realizing until its too late. I just did it a few weeks ago, in a very memorable way. So needless to say, this Love Dare has been a challenge from the beginning. Even the day that dared to buy something for my spouse, and I decided I would get up with the kids and buy donuts for breakfast...my husband could sleep in and then wake up to one of his favorite treats...I got up, dressed the boys, and then stared at the door for a good 5 minutes just willing myself to get out. I didn't want to do it! Even though it meant a 3 minute car ride, a $4 purchase, and a donut for myself.
What I've realized in just the last 10 days is that I'm selfish. Not in a noticeable, over-the-top way, but in an intimate, we-sleep-in-the-same-bed-and-you-stay-in-it-much-longer-than-I-do kind of way. Its a selfishness that, when confronted, says "How dare you not like something about the way that I am!" Its hard to let go. But this Love Dare, and my awesome Village Sisters, make me want to peel it off and toss it in the trash (and then tie up the bag and carry it outside myself, because I'm being selfless!).
Another thing I've realized is that the Love Dare is not a sustainable template for marriage. Its a 40 day kick in the pants to make me see myself clearly, and see my husband clearly, and give some intentional "for better" experiences. Because we don't vow to stay married as long as everyone is healthy and doing nice things for each other. We promise "in sickness and in health", "for richer or for poorer". We have to promise both, because we don't get to choose which way our lives go. I am (thank you Lord) healthy today, but a year and a half ago I took one wrong step and twisted my ankle. I had to use crutches for weeks, went to physical therapy, missed trick-or-treat with my family. I didn't plan on all that suckiness to happen, but it did, and Chris took care of me. He took on double duty parenting, cleaning, cooking, and still made it to his job every day. I don't know when some external factor like the death of a loved one or the divorce of parents is going to wreak havoc on our lives, and turn me into an emotional mess of a human being. But I know that Chris will be there, holding me, comforting me, and we will cling to each other because some days that is the only thing that seems permanent and trust-worthy.
So there are 30 days left. Some daunting challenges (give in on a disagreement? we are not friends Day 12) and some that seem easy (read my Bible? don't mind if I do Day 21) lie ahead. I can do this, because my marriage is worth it!
So when our leaders announced we were going to do The Love Dare (a 40 day challenge to be kinder to your spouse from the movie Fireproof), I was ready to go. YES! My marriage is about to get a little more awesome, and although I have wanted to do this since I saw the movie years ago, I've never actually gotten around to it. Now I have a whole village of people to keep me motivated and hold me accountable to do it! We got the book, flipped open to the first Dare, and I frowned. Day 1...was it something simple and pleasant to get my feet wet? NO. Day 1: Love is patient. Be patient with your spouse all day. Only say kind things. If you want to say something negative, say nothing. As much as my husband tells me I'm a good wife, as much as I think of myself this way, the truth is that I can have a sharp tongue. I don't nag or belittle him, but I am sarcastic (its my superpower, sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse) and sometimes I say things that are very hurtful without even realizing until its too late. I just did it a few weeks ago, in a very memorable way. So needless to say, this Love Dare has been a challenge from the beginning. Even the day that dared to buy something for my spouse, and I decided I would get up with the kids and buy donuts for breakfast...my husband could sleep in and then wake up to one of his favorite treats...I got up, dressed the boys, and then stared at the door for a good 5 minutes just willing myself to get out. I didn't want to do it! Even though it meant a 3 minute car ride, a $4 purchase, and a donut for myself.
What I've realized in just the last 10 days is that I'm selfish. Not in a noticeable, over-the-top way, but in an intimate, we-sleep-in-the-same-bed-and-you-stay-in-it-much-longer-than-I-do kind of way. Its a selfishness that, when confronted, says "How dare you not like something about the way that I am!" Its hard to let go. But this Love Dare, and my awesome Village Sisters, make me want to peel it off and toss it in the trash (and then tie up the bag and carry it outside myself, because I'm being selfless!).
Another thing I've realized is that the Love Dare is not a sustainable template for marriage. Its a 40 day kick in the pants to make me see myself clearly, and see my husband clearly, and give some intentional "for better" experiences. Because we don't vow to stay married as long as everyone is healthy and doing nice things for each other. We promise "in sickness and in health", "for richer or for poorer". We have to promise both, because we don't get to choose which way our lives go. I am (thank you Lord) healthy today, but a year and a half ago I took one wrong step and twisted my ankle. I had to use crutches for weeks, went to physical therapy, missed trick-or-treat with my family. I didn't plan on all that suckiness to happen, but it did, and Chris took care of me. He took on double duty parenting, cleaning, cooking, and still made it to his job every day. I don't know when some external factor like the death of a loved one or the divorce of parents is going to wreak havoc on our lives, and turn me into an emotional mess of a human being. But I know that Chris will be there, holding me, comforting me, and we will cling to each other because some days that is the only thing that seems permanent and trust-worthy.
So there are 30 days left. Some daunting challenges (give in on a disagreement? we are not friends Day 12) and some that seem easy (read my Bible? don't mind if I do Day 21) lie ahead. I can do this, because my marriage is worth it!
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Autism Awareness
Oh yes. These people get me. But in honor of this fantastic blue month, I want to share three things I've learned as an Autism Mommy that maybe you don't know. They are the three things I wish I'd heard from the smug neuro who leveled us with a diagnosis and an indifferent attitude about how our lives would be different from those of the typical families.
What the doctor should have said:
1. If you've met one person with autism, then you've met one person with autism. I hadn't experienced much first hand before becoming a mom. I only knew one person for sure that I'd interacted with who was autistic. My son is almost nothing like that other boy, except they share a medical diagnosis. Never assume what an individual is capable of based on one word. Because its a "spectrum" disorder, these people are all over the place in terms of skills, knowledge, communication, interests...but they are all people, all worthy of love and freedom and life. Which leads me to...
2. Different, not less. I can't even say these words out loud without crying. They mean that much to me. My son is ABSOLUTELY different from typical children; he knows it, they know it, anyone spending five minutes with him knows it. But he is in no way LESS of a person, less worthwhile, less loveable. He is a circle to his brother's straight line; he is a square peg in a world of round holes. His mind is a mystery, even to me, the one who birthed him and carried him and spent every day with him, but it is a joy to discover how it whirs and contemplates and makes sense of this life he's been given...
3. Watch and learn. Too many doctors give a "prognosis"...fancy medical term for incapacitating fear instilled in parents without much basis in reality. We sit in the sterile rooms and look at the framed diplomas and imagine these men and women to be masters of the body and conquistadors of the brain, and when they say horrifying things like "Your child will never talk" or "Your child will never be able to have a real friend" or even something completely absurd and incalculable like "Your daughter will never go to Prom", we listen. We readily accept as truth something that NO ONE has any way of knowing. Remember #1 on my list? Yeah. So when you meet an autistic individual, especially when you parent or grandparent or are an uncle or aunt to someone like my son, put it all out of your mind. Just pay attention. Become a student of your child, just like any other parent does, and you will learn their triggers and their shortcomings, yes, but you will find out so much more. You will see fans where you never noticed them before, you will be aware every time a school bus passes, you will see a snake not as a horrifying predator but something to be stroked and loved. You will see a boy in a wheelchair and look beyond the disability to see the beautiful person inside. You will notice every time another person cries, whether it is your baby or a stranger, and you will feel distress because that person is sad and you can't take it away. You will know where every McDonald's is in your county, and you will shake your fist at those all-too-visible golden arches and wonder why there are so many. You will realize that the only worthwhile part of cupcakes is the frosting.
I hope I can educate people and dispel the myths surrounding people like my son. I am so grateful to the other moms and dads who share their everyday experiences and moments of transcendent wonder in ways that are poetic and informative, and I will keep striving to achieve that here (someday!). And now I leave you with the immortal words of Ms. Jamie Lee Curtis:
"Different means nobody's ever the same.
All bodies are different and so are all brains.
Different is what makes this world so great.
Different is never something to hate."
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